Patagonia

I always go and have a cup of tea with my first Athe Dan who lives in the city centre. You can't miss his house. Everyone knows Athe Dan because he's the friendliest person and has a guest book. He prides himself on being that person. He's the oldest man in my family. He has all the stories and the knowledge, and he always shares about my Athe Jack – my grandpa who also raised him. I guess he always likes to look at me because I remind him of my big Athe. It's always the elders first and then you sort of make your way around to all the other families, but it's mostly family first and then hanging out by the IBIS shop. I don't know why. Have you ever seen Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back? They're just hanging out at the shop and you're like, that's me. The hall is across the road, so all the kids are there for the WIFI. It's kind of like the bustling part of Masig.

Then I'm just gearing up for cups of tea with my other family members. If I don't have to jump into work, I'll use that time to continue to learn and hear stories from elders and family members, which is not the worst day. I’ll always run into my Athe Ned Mosby, who is the community policeman. He’s also the pastor and the electrician. At first, you won't see him, but you'll hear him. He'll yell to the top of his lungs, “Praise the Lord.” I’ll run into him and his wife Aka Jess who runs the IBIS shop. Then I’ll have an afternoon swim, a walk along the reef, then have dinner, whether that's cooking for Athe or out on Bala Yessie's [Mosby] beachfront. We're just putting food on the fire, fresh fish, shucking coconuts. Island life.

When you go to an island home, there's this sense of smell. It's a mix of coconut oils, but also flour. Give an island person flour and they can just make anything with it. A lot of our dishes from damper to domboys just have flour in them. There's always going to be fried scones or fresh damper on your table so that when you wake up, the first thing you have is a scone and butter, with a cup of tea. You take that on your walk.

Stepping outside, wherever the sun is sitting, you have the smell of that tropical heat and humidity, but under the palms it's this fresh sea breeze. It's hypnotising — it's rocking you to sleep when you're sitting in a hammock. You put a frangipani in your ear and just lay down. There's this effervescence of constant cooling air, but warmth that's sort of wrapped around you in a way that doesn't seem suffocating. You've got saltiness on you from the ocean and then you've just smothered yourself with coconut oil because you don't want to have dry pasty skin. It's that melting pot of smells.

We have such beautiful bird life on the island. I'm no bird expert, but I’ve always listened to Bala Yessie sharing that our islands are hotels and motels. I really didn't understand what that meant, but I saw how our sandy coral cays and islands are resting places for birds and they’re a part of the background of white noise on the islands. You’ve got bird sounds and crashing waves. Sometimes it's kids in the background, playing in the streets. As the sun goes down, it becomes the sounds of the women cooking in the kitchen, or if you’re out looking after the Kup Murri, you also hear the crackling leaves and coconuts that burst in the fire pit.

We're often spending the day with our families, drag-netting and catching fish by hand. We use the leaves of the mekei tree to wrap them and we cook the fish right on the fire. We often eat like that, instead of going back in and out of the house. I like that in the back of all our houses on my family side, we have a gathering place for our own family, which is usually just a fire pit. It’s really nice for sharing story.

We’re on a coral cay atoll so we don't actually have soil. Our gardening looks different. We have different plants and foods that flower and different seasons that are so vital. That's a big reason why protecting our island is so important. Coconut is our main food source. We call it our ‘tree of life’ because it has many uses, from food to medicines. We have the different trees like our ubar (wongai) tree, mekei tree and noni fruit. Our uzu fruits are plums which are good for snacking. We have our lemons and limes that are smaller native ones. Quite often, during the monsoonal season, we may not get good dry goods. It might be weeks and weeks. Knowing what plants can do, and how we can find fresh water is super important.

While I was always going back to the islands, I did all my schooling on mainland Australia. After 20 years, that first time I went back to Masig, that feeling in the ocean was like no other. I, like so many of us, have gone to the ocean for healing, to filter angst, to camouflage the emotion or to support you on that journey of wherever you're at. It's really that feeling, that in your heart you know that you feel better.

That first time I dived in Masig, I was with my Athe Ods, and he had just shared that because of ocean warming, the sea grass fields that used to be home to a lot of dugong – which is one of my totems – weren't there anymore. It's now just become a lagoon. When I first jumped in, it felt like silk. I felt like I was just wrapped into it. We know that in salty water you can float but I felt I was just drowning in this beautiful body of... I don't even know what it was. It was just that sensation that I'd never felt before.

I was being called home. I was finally home in my ocean, in my water, with my people. For a long time, I didn't know the feeling of home as a place, but more as people. I love the ocean, I've always loved it, but I now know a distinct feeling of what home is.

After so many years, the first thing my family said to me was, “Welcome home, daughter.” And I just didn't understand really, at that point, what that meant. Through those times of having conversations with them all and continuing to learn and grow, I honour those who are on the frontlines of those climate impacts. Now, I must not only be a steward and a custodian for protecting the oceans of Masig, but all oceans.

When I’m away, I get messages every day from family members on Masig just sharing how proud they are of the work that I do, and because I returned home. It took a long time, but you came back home.

Tish King features in new Patagonia film Sea Country — Malu Lag, directed by Nicole Gormley. Watch the film here.

This story features in the first print edition of Roaring Journals: order your copy here.